


Raising A White Flag

by hazelandglasz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aging, Beards (Facial Hair), Blow Jobs, Facials, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Future Fic, M/M, Married Couple, Praise Kink, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 14:54:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7176419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek would love to look away from the mirror, and join his family, really, he would.<br/>But he can't.<br/>Trust Stiles to make him focus on something else ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raising A White Flag

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spikeluv84](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikeluv84/gifts).



> A big thank you to Eey for checking over my mistakes, and to all the mods for organizing this event ^^

“Derek, hurry up!”

“Yes, Daddy, hu’wy up!”

“ _Awooo_!”

Derek would love to hurry up.

As a matter of fact, he would love nothing more than hurrying up out of the bathroom, to join his husband and their horde--ahem, their kids for this long weekend, to laze around the house for the morning with burned up pancakes, courtesy of Alana, and orange juice with seeds, courtesy of Stiles.

He would just love to join the rest of the Pack afterwards, running in the woods, feeling the forest bursting with life, with his pups and his nephews and his Alpha and his husband, weres and humans all running together.

Yes, Derek really wants to do all of that.

But he can’t, for the life of him, look away from the mirror.

Oh, he’s not vain--though Stiles constantly going speechless for a moment or two whenever he comes out of the bathroom in just a towel (and, in one memorable occasion, just came home after a freakish rainstorm) is a boost to his ego that he won’t deny.

Not being vain doesn’t mean that Derek doesn’t have a healthy appreciation for his looks.

Particularly when it means that Stiles gets white around the temples before Derek does, thanks to his werewolf metabolism, and he gets to tease him endlessly.

In true Stilinski fashion, though, Stiles doesn’t let himself be teased without retaliating, and Derek has to admit that he revels in getting Stiles all over him, covering his body with his own and keeping him on the mattress to show him exactly how young and energetic he still is.

But he digresses.

“Der’?”

Stiles must have passed Tommy to Alana, because Derek can’t hear the kids around the bathroom door.

“Are you okay, _szczeniaczku_?”

It says a lot about Derek’s state of mind that the nickname, which usually sends him growling at Stiles in warning, doesn’t make him react at all.

“Okay, either you tell me what’s going on, orI come in.”

“Uh-huh.”

Stiles slowly opens the door and peeks in. “You okay?” he asks Derek, and Derek can only shrug. “What’s wrong?”

The worry in his husband’s voice is like a wake-up call--he’s being silly, it’s … it’s nothing really, now he has Stiles concerned, far more than the situation deserves and …

Stiles comes to stand behind Derek, and Derek leans against him, letting him hook his chin over Derek’s shoulder. “What is going on in that head of yours,” Stiles whispers, kissing Derek’s temple.

His morning scruff tickles Derek’s skin, and for a moment, his freak-out seems to be on hold.

For a moment, Derek savors it, the little pockets of time for him and Stiles alone, the warmth of Stiles’ touch, the sweetness of his breath--must have stolen a piece of pancake already--, the strength of his body behind Derek’s …

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs, covering Stiles’ hands with his own.

“‘s not nothing if you don’t come for Saturday Stilinskis Shenanigans,” Stiles retorts against the skin of Derek’s jaw.

Derek doesn’t know what to reply, but he doesn’t have to.

“Derek Sasha Hale Stilinski,” Stiles says slowly--reverently even, but it is preposterous, isn’t it?--, “is that … is that a grey hair in your magnificent beard?”

Derek gulps.

In their reflection, Stiles’ smile widens, and his hands on Derek’s chest dig deeper.

Possessive and hungry.

“Is your beard turning grey, Derek?”

There is a distinctively hungry purr in Stiles’ voice, and Derek scowls at his reflection.

“Don’t make fun of me,” he mumbles, looking away and crossing his arms over his chest.

Incidentally trapping Stiles’ hands against it too.

“Oh, but I would _never_ ,” Stiles says, peppering kisses all over Derek’s neck. “Tease your aging like you did with me?” He pauses, rubbing the tip of his nose against the small hair curling at the base of Derek’s skull. “That’s not my intention, not at all.”

Derek hums suspiciously.

“On our pups.”

Stiles would never lie on their children’s heads. Derek’s hum takes on a questioning inflection, and he goes back to simply covering Stiles’ hands.

“No, I’d rather let you know how _hot_ it is.”

“Oh?”

Stiles hums happily, the vibration of it echoing deliciously against Derek’s back. “It makes you look wise,” he says, one hand sliding to curl around Derek’s hip, while the other slides up to scratch his beard. “Dignified even.”

He pauses, his hand sliding down from Derek’s hip to the knot of his towel.

“Makes me want to unravel you even more.”

Derek gulps audibly. “S-Stiles, the kids …,” he tries to say, his voice rising when Stiles unties the towel and lets it drop to the floor.

“Alana,” Stiles calls, locking his gaze with Derek’s in the mirror, “take your brother and sister for a run in the woods.”

“What about Daddy!” the ten year-old calls back.

“We’ll join you later!”

“‘Kay!”

Stiles waits, and Derek listens for the moment the door leading to the woods closes to give his husband a curt nod.

“My wise wolf,” Stiles purrs, his hands on Derek’s hips to pull him closer to his crotch--and Derek arches his back when he can feel Stiles’ erection slotting between his cheeks--, “maturing like fine wine at last.”

“For a second I thought you’d compare me to ch-- _ah!_ \--to cheese,” Derek retorts, closing his eyes when Stiles closes his lips around the soft skin of his neck.

“Knowing my deep enthusiasm for cheese,” he murmurs, “would that be so bad?”

Derek lets out a short, throaty laugh. “No, it would not,” he replies.

“But you, hubby of mine,” Stiles continues, rolling his hips sensually as he starts stroking Derek’s cock into full hardness, “are like wine--rich, and intoxicating …”

“Stiles,” Derek groans.

“... and getting better with time, better suited for _me_ …”

“Oh my God.”

“... My beautiful, hot husband,” Stiles goes on, trailing his lips across the span of Derek’s shoulders like he actually wants to get drunk on him.

And isn’t that a _fantastic_ visual.

Derek is only too aware of how much Stiles’ … appreciation of him, of his body, sure, but also of his many assets, affects him. He rolls his hips against Stiles’ body, so strong and secure, the shelter that never fails to make Derek feel safe, and lets out a small sigh of contentment when he can feel Stiles’ erection slotting between his cheeks.

“Der’,” Stiles murmurs, and in the mirror, Derek can see that he closed his eyes as he tightens his hold on Derek’s hip. “Derek …”

There are hundreds of different emotions wrapped in Stiles’ voice, all around his name--all making him feel better about those damn lighter hairs in his beard.

 _Something else always make my beard lighter_ , pops in his head, and Derek moans at the image.

“What is it you want,” Stiles whispers in his ear--damn his husband for knowing him so well. “Want me to cover your back with come, rub it into your skin before the run?”

Derek does love being covered in Stiles’ scent just before meeting the Pack, if only for the mixed look of disgust and admiration in Erica’s eyes.

But no.

“Want to suck you off,” he replies, pressing hard against Stiles. “Want you to come on my face.”

Stiles sucks in a breath before attaching his lips to the side of Derek’s neck. “Want me to add some white in it,” he mumbles before biting down. “ _Hot_.”

It’s all the consent Derek needs before turning around and sliding down Stiles’ body, taking his soft, lazy mornings pants with him.

Stiles’ cock makes him drool, as fast and as strongly as it did the first time Derek got to get his hand around it, and he wastes no time before swiping his tongue around it, along the veins running under it from root to tip, until he can wrap his lips around the reddening head.

There are quite a lot of acts Derek absolutely adores performing with his husband; but fellatio? Now that’s on top of his list, no matter who gives and who receives. The intimacy of it, the sense of being completely surrounded by _Stiles_ , his scent, his feeling, his taste … it just makes Derek so happy, as trite as the word may sound.

This is not an occasion to take his time, though--the kids are waiting, and he still needs to shower, to get ready for the day ahead--so Derek sucks with all his might, reaching up Stiles’ thighs to caress and squeeze his husband’s balls.

“Not playing around, uh,” Stiles manages to say between gritted teeth. His fingers are making a mess of Derek’s hair, but not in a controlling way--Derek can feel the gentleness of his touch, how Stiles is grounding himself in it. Derek is the one deciding on the pace of it all, and he loves Stiles for giving him that freedom and control.

He loves him for several other reasons, but he doesn’t have time to waste.

And Stiles is practically _vibrating_ under his ministrations so there really isn’t any second left to wax poetry about their relationship.

Derek reaches blindly for Stiles’ ass, squeezing the toned cheeks and pushing Stiles closer to him.

“Der’--Derek if you want me to c-come, oh my God, to come on your face, you need to … You need to … _Fuck!”_

Derek can only lean backward, letting go of Stiles’ cock with an obnoxious popping noise before feeling the first hit of semen against the bridge of his nose.

He sighs happily, and procedes to jerk Stiles until the very last drop pearls at the slit.

Derek moves closer, licking it from Stiles’ trembling body before looking up at Stiles.

“God you look good with white in your beard,” Stiles mumbles, left almost drunk in his post-orgasmic state. “Come on, in the shower you go, I’ll make sure you’re extra clean.”

Derek stands up, his erection tenting his pajama pants, and he leans into Stiles’ touch when he reaches up to cup his cheek.

As they get in the shower, Stiles starts laughing quietly, as if just understanding a joke.

“What?” Derek says, one hand testing the water temperature.

“Nothing.”

“ _Stiles_.”

“It’s just …,” Stiles starts before laughing harder, “at least this year I promise not to fight you to play Santa.”

Derek growls before pulling him in the shower to show him exactly what he plans to do to Stiles when he ends up on his Naughty list.


End file.
